


Massage Therapy

by reillyblack



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, And all that jazz, Awkwardness, Canon Derek past, Derek is a grump, Derek's a werewolf, Fluff, Inappropriate Humor, M/M, Pack Feels, but Scott was never bitten so Stiles has no idea, except Laura's alive, groping and massage oil, how the hell else could I attempt to explain derek becoming a masseuse, like as a living, mostly at the end tho, romcom, stiles really tries to flirt, then more awkwardness, werwolves are real
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-05-07
Packaged: 2018-05-25 16:21:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6202405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reillyblack/pseuds/reillyblack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles wins the big lottery prize at the police departments annual fundraiser -- five at-home massages with the best masseuse in town. Which, ok, awesome, except... one problem: "the best masseuse in town" turns out to be the ridiculously hot, grumpy, man of his dreams and Stiles can NOT figure out how to hit on him during their sessions together without making him feel like a prostitute.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Adding this to my small but growing collection of ridiculous romcom-y stories made up of pure self-indulgence and my husband convincing me I'm funny.

Stiles, after four years of big dreams of solving difficult cases in New York or L.A. or some other high volume city, never thought he'd be back in Beacon Hills for round two with his dad in the house he grew up with, starting at the local police department. He wouldn't say he was disappointed, exactly, because he loved his dad, and he weirdly loved Beacon Hills, despite all his daydreaming about NYPD and late-night crime shows. When his dad hopefully hinted that they were looking for a detective at the station, Stiles just felt right about applying, which was a surprise to even himself. But that surprise settled into contentment when he experienced firsthand how thrilled his dad was about having him in the same city, same house, and same police department after four years away. 

Maybe it was the universe's way of rewarding him for making a selfless decision, but the woman in the sparkly dress pulled his raffle number at the annual Police Ball and announced he'd won the grand prize. 

Let no one say Stiles Stilinski never won anything. Maybe he lost at sports as a matter of a rule, but this? This Stiles won. 

Stiles received his gift basket on stage and accepted the well-meaning and loud encouragement of his fellow police officers as he returned to his dad's table and slowly picked through the contents. Nestled among the rubble of shit he didn't know what to do with and shit he didn't like was the sparkling golden ticket with "5 Free At-Home Massages" written loud and proud across the front.

"Dad, is this a police thing?" Stiles questioned his father, turning the ticket over in his hands. 

"It's a massage. Who doesn't like a free massage?" his father answered flippantly, his cheeks rosy with wine as he cheered for someone on stage. 

Stiles inspected the fine print on the back. The ticket claimed it was for special 90-minute reservations with the "most in-demand masseuse in all of Beacon Hills", which, admittedly, wasn't that impressive of a title given how many masseuses Stiles guessed there actually were in Beacon Hills. Still, Stiles was more excited by the prospect of a massage than he was by most of the other hyper-masculine and super practical "gifts" in the basket. 

"Seriously. Who puts a power drill in a gift basket?" 

* * *

 

Luckily for Stiles, Scott had also chosen to return to Beacon Hills after he finished his nursing education at Berkeley with Stiles. Somehow, they'd both wound up working with their parents. Stiles felt like he was in high school again when Scott came over to play video games and eat pizza and pick through the contents of Stiles's gift basket. 

"I can understand why you're not jazzed about the emergency freeze-dried food, but come on, the massages are pretty awesome." 

"Ok. Those massages." Stiles button-smashed for a moment until he gave into a fiery death and tossed his controller for another slice of pizza. "They sound like, I dunno, a porno or something." 

Scott choked on his pizza. 

"Sorry?" 

"Seriously. Who needs a massage _in their house_? It's the setup of a porn, or a front for prostitution, not a real-life thing. I'm actually pretty sure "massages" is a whole category of porn on its own." 

"Stiles." Scott glared at him. "As someone who works in the healthcare industry, I'm telling you -- do not treat this person like you're expecting sex from them for doing their job."

"Jeez, Scotty. You know I won't. I'm just saying the whole idea of it is totally sextastic. You can't hear 'at-home massage' without going to a dirty, oily, porno place."

"Oh god," Scott groaned. "Stiles, give me your word you will not hit on your masseuse. Seriously, that is a lawsuit waiting to happen." 

"Scott, I said I wouldn't, didn't I? That's assholery 101," Stiles scoffed. "But I'm pretty sure the whole concept is going to be lost on me -- a stranger rubbing you down with oil while you're naked doesn't exactly scream relaxing. Not by Stiles standards, anyway." 

"Well, if you're saying you don't want it--" Scott grinned, reaching for the tickets. 

"Hey! Hands off. I'm still going to give it a shot, damn it. I won those fair and square." Stiles paused, looking over the contents of the gift basket. "Now the rest of this stuff you can keep." 

* * *

Stiles first conquered his surprise that Beacon Hills even had a high-end salon that was still in business (as nothing about Beacon Hills translated into a large clientele) when he dialed the number on the ticket and a smooth, rich voice picked up. The woman sounded like one of those hypnosis tapes designed to put people to sleep.

"Full Moon Massage, how may I help you?"

"Hey." Stiles swallowed, a bit stunned. "I, uh, I won the raffle at the Police Ball for five free massages? Best masseuse in town?"

"Of course. We're glad to hear it. Can I take your name, address, and availability?"

"Sure." Stiles went to ramble all that off, but had to stop when the voice gave an unexpected squeal at his name.

"Stilinski? This is Erica! I didn't know you were back in town?" she said, sounding far less like a professional and far more like the Erica he remembered. 

"Hey! Yeah, I remember you. I just moved back a month ago, so I haven't really had a chance to see anyone from high school." 

"Well, glad to hear you're alive! And so lucky. Derek's totally worth it." 

"Derek." He'd never heard of him. "That's the best masseuse in town?"

"He earned that title."

"Wow, ok. You're setting a high bar. He better measure up or I might demand a refund," Stiles muttered to Erica's laugh. 

"It's free, dumbass. No refunds for you. Oh! Oh, I mean, please sir, can I take down your address and availability?" Erica slipped back into her hypnosis-calm voice and Stiles snorted at the thought of an angry supervisor hovering nearby. 

"Sorry if I got you in trouble," Stiles whispered at the end of repeating his information. 

"It's no problem, sir. I see that Derek has availability tomorrow that matches yours from 5-6:30 PM, does that sound alright?"

"Sounds great. I'll put on the Enya, light a few candles. Do I wait, like, with my clothes on?" 

"Derek will talk you through the process, but it really depends on what areas you'd like him to focus on," Erica said, her professional voice wavering slightly with what sounded like a repressed giggle.

Stiles couldn't help swallowing again over that. Areas. Stiles willed his dirty, oily, porn thoughts from his head with an echo of Scott's scolding voice. 

"Righty-o. Got it. Thanks a bunch, Erica." Stiles said goodbye and hung up, a nervous flutter in his stomach.

  


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stiles gets massage #1.

Stiles answered the door barefoot and dressed only in basketball shorts and a thin t-shirt. He immediately regretted every decision he'd made leading up to that point when he saw the... _creature_ on his doorstep. 

"Stilinksi?" The guy said without much inflection. Stiles nodded, breaking out in a sudden sweat. His masseuse was gorgeous -- dark, rugged features, bright eyes under his serious brows, built like a weightlifter. Just his fucking luck. "I'm Derek, your massage therapist from Full Moon Massage."

He breezed past Stiles despite Stiles's obvious awkward and glanced around the house. 

"Where should I set up?"

Stiles added the dim lighting, Enya, and candle combo to his list of things he instantly regretted. He gestured vaguely at the cleared space in the living room as he fought off the rising blush he could feel heating his cheeks. He watched the guy easily flip his table open and set up, his mouth watering with how goddamn hot he was as his arms flexed. Stiles was just... screwed. 

Derek didn't pay much attention to Stiles staring at him at a loss. He was all business, even when he turned and finally addressed Stiles head-on.

"You want to keep the shirt on?" he asked a little aggressively, crossing his arms in front of his chest. Stiles was hit with the feeling that Derek might be the least relaxing guy ever. 

"That probably would not be super helpful," Stiles guessed, thumbing at the edges of his shirt.

Derek's mouth twitched. 

"Not really." 

Stiles felt Derek's eyes on him as he stripped off his shirt, willing himself not to be self-conscious in the presence of this clearly inhuman god. Still, he'd never been so tense in his life. In his panic, he thought if he couldn't see Derek he couldn't be attracted to him and therefor wouldn't revert to the awkward mess of his pre-college years (and maybe continuing to the present, as he was finding out). With this in mind, he climbed up on the massage table and face planted straight into the face hole without any further preamble. 

"You've never done this before," Derek concluded, and Stiles felt his blush intensify. So much for his whole "out of sight, out of mind" theory. 

"Not so much," Stiles said to the floor. Everything felt exposed, his back in particular. He decided in that moment that he would give his remaining massages over to Scott without complaint. He was right; massages just weren't a Stiles relaxation thing, especially not massages from people who were probably originally carved out of marble. 

"I need the pants off too if you want a full-body massage. I'll wait by the door until you tell me you're under the sheet."

"Oh," Stiles squeaked, mostly to himself as he heard Derek's footsteps recede. When he sat up to tug off his basketball shorts, he strained to catch a glimpse of Derek. The guy was actually dutifully waiting in the entryway, out of sight, even though it was no big deal for Stiles to shrug out of his shorts around him. Stiles felt ridiculous about feeling relieved for that small show of courtesy.

"OK, I'm cool." Stiles said as he hiked the sheet up to his armpits and fit his face into the hole again. He felt considerably better under the sheet, safer. He saw Derek's tennis shoes come into sight after a few seconds.   

"Any pulled muscles, injuries?" Derek asked as his hands ghosted lightly over the sheet, just barely touching Stiles's back, moving down to his calves easily with the same light touches, and settling on his feet.

"I." Stiles swallowed hard at the feel of Derek gently stroking the insoles of his feet through the sheet. He had pulled some muscles in his upper thighs doing too many squats the day before, but he wasn't about to bring that up with this guy. Because. Then he would touch it. With oil. And perfect pressure. God damn it. "Perfectly healthy!" Stiles lied. 

"No injuries?" Derek pressed after a moment's hesitation, his hands stilling on Stiles's feet. He almost sounded suspicious. Stiles was probably imagining it, but it worried him that Derek was so perceptive. How was he going to get through this session with senses like that?

"I mean, some... I just pulled a muscle in my thigh yesterday. Nothing serious. Hardly counts." Stiles immediately cursed himself for giving in. He was such a terrible liar -- too eager to please. How the hell did he make a living as a detective.

"Both thighs?" 

"Yeah." _No. No, you did not,_ Stiles's brain screamed at him.  

Without any further preamble, Stiles heard a wet sound and felt Derek fold the sheet down to his waist. A light touch along his shoulders, this time skin-to-skin, startled him with its warmth and smooth slide. The next touch was confident, a long, languid stroke from his shoulders to his waist, followed by another similarly long stroke along his shoulder blades. Compared to the pounding and painful kneading Stiles was used to from his father, Derek's technique was a refreshing surprise. Stiles felt like waves were lapping at his back as Derek worked his way from top to bottom and along his shoulders.   

"Dude, what you're doing -- that's amazing," Stiles's mouth rambled without his permission. "This is so not what I expected." 

"What did you expect?" Derek wondered calmly. 

"Like, someone banging on my back. And pulling me around." 

"Sorry to disappoint." 

Stiles snorted, and he thought maybe Derek's shoes looked amused too. His heartbeat was still way too fast to count this as relaxing, but it helped to chatter a little. Make sure he actually was a human and not a perfect automaton sent from the future to massage him into spilling all the secrets of the Beacon Hills PD. 

Or something. 

"Seriously, what... uh.. technique, I guess, are you using? Cause I definitely want it next time too." Oh god. Next time. He had five of these things. He could not do anything horribly embarrassing today like a pop a boner under the sheet. Good lord. 

"Lomilomi," Derek said shortly, and Stiles wondered if maybe Derek didn't like talking during massages. Which, ok, tough luck. Sorry dude. You did not order the right client for that.

"Lomilomi. Where's that from? Some exotic, far-off land?" 

"Hawaii. So not really." 

"It feels like the ocean." 

Derek's hands paused as they swept from his neck down to his shoulder. 

"It's supposed to."

"Amazing," Stiles sighed. 

Derek knelt in front of him, and suddenly Stiles had a face full of an aggressive-looking sports shirt and basketball shorts similar to his own. He thought about how close Derek's dick was -- couldn't be more than two feet from his face -- and immediately scolded himself in Scott's voice in his head.

He opted to close his eyes and try to ignore Derek. He thought about waves, beaches, the smell of South California, and felt himself melt into the bench. Derek's hands became abstract ideas as his muscles slowly untangled. 

It seemed to go on forever, alternating between aching and soothing depending on how tense he was, until Derek tucked the sheet back up around his arms. 

"That's it?" Stiles mumbled, feeling like his mouth had gone numb at some point. 

"Now I'll work on your lower body." 

Oh right. Lower body. The sheet got tucked high up on his right leg, and Stiles was sort of jolted out of his reverie by the feel of those same long, smooth strokes starting high up on his right thigh and traveling down his calves. 

"Sore muscle, huh?" Derek asked. He sounded... almost smug. 

"Hm," Stiles managed as Derek wrapped his strong hands around the inside of Stiles's thigh. It clearly wasn't meant to be sexual in any way, but Stiles felt his dick take interest with Derek's hands so close by. 

"I feel you tensing. Does it hurt?" 

"Yes." Stiles bit out. Maybe if he claimed it hurt Derek would move on. 

"Really?" Derek pressed, pausing. With one hand. Between Stiles's thighs. Hm.

"No, just weird," Stiles amended, giving in again to Derek's apparent detective-level of lie detecting.  

"Ok. Focus on your breathing." 

"Breathing. Breaths. Right. Doing the breathing thing," Stiles chattered nervously as Derek's hand traveled between his knee and his upper thigh. Derek even hiked his underwear up a few inches. Fuck. He was a goner. Thank god he was on his stomach.

Stiles decided to just give in to it. He was facing down on the table so there was no way Derek could know what was really going on in his pants, and he wasn't about to try lying to him again. The real problem was that he could just imagine how good Derek's hands would feel somewhere else. Somewhere very specific. 

Stiles bit his tongue and tried to visualize beaches again. Thankfully, Derek moved onto his calves after a few minutes of concentrated attention on Stiles's thigh, which admittedly did soothe his sore muscle. 

Stiles relaxed again as Derek moved between his calves and feet. The feet were probably the most relaxing part of the whole thing. By the time Derek moved on to the other thigh, Stiles had time to mentally prepare himself to stay calm. He was ready. Cool as a cucumber, really. Derek's hands moved over his skin and Stiles sank into a stupor, even when they reached his upper thigh again.

Stiles moaned.

Derek stopped.

Ok, maybe _too_ relaxed. 

"Painful?" Derek ventured.

"I'm good," Stiles managed through a tight throat.

"Breathing," Derek reminded him. 

Right. _Breathing_.  

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> massage #2 is a little more friendly ;)

Stiles called Scott pretty much the minute Derek drove off in his stupidly hot Camaro. Stupid, stupid Camaro. 

"Dude. Help," Stiles begged into the phone. 

"What happened?" Scott asked, alarmed.

"My masseuse is Hugh Jackman."

"What?"

"Hugh Jackman."

"Hugh Jackman's Wolverine. You love Hugh Jackman."

"Exactly."

"Oh, no. Tell me you didn't hit on him."

"No, but it was close," Stiles sighed. "I don't know how I'm going to make it through the next few sessions."

"You give them to me," Scott laughed. Stiles scowled. 

"No way, dude. He's, like, magic. I've never been so relaxed in my life. He does this thing called Lomilomi and you want to just die."

  
"Ok, so keep your mouth shut and enjoy." 

"You know who you're talking to, right?" 

"Right..." Scott agreed slowly. "Ok, here we go. You talk to him, get to know him. Strictly platonic! See if you're still attracted to him. Looks can only go so far, right?"

"And magic hands. Don't forget magic hands. Ok, this is a good plan. Just hope that he has a bad personality." Stiles nodded. He could practically hear Scott's nose wrinkle over the phone at the "magic hands" bit.

"Dude, your thing is your thing. But remember -- don't hit on him. No matter what. It's creepy. Just talk to him like you're talking to me."

"You're right. Thanks, man."

 

* * *

 

A slow week passed at the police station before Stiles was qeueing up a soothing sounds playlist he found online and tucking his candles far, far in the back of his closet. No faux romantic atmosphere, it was all business in the Stilinksi home this time. Yep. 

Derek didn't smile at him when he answered the door, but he didn't smile at him last time either, even when Stiles tipped him generously. Stiles suspected it was just a thing he didn't do very often. 

Derek set up his table while Stiles chattered at him and then went to wait in the hallway out of sight. Stiles stripped quickly and tucked himself under the sheet, carefully planning his strategy of strictly platonic Scott talk. It basically involved a lot of open-ended questions and personal-but-not-too-personal probing about his relationship status. 

When he gave Derek the ok, Stiles waited for Derek's tennis shoes to enter his field of vision before launching his plan. 

"So, best masseuse in town, huh? How'd you earn that title?" Stiles asked the ground. He felt Derek's hands lightly skim over his back, warming him up to touch before settling on the insoles of his feet, slowly massaging. 

"Massage therapist," Derek said abruptly. He sounded annoyed. "I told them to change that." 

"What's the difference?" 

"I have a lot of training. And I don't do happy endings," Derek said, sounding just as annoyed. Now Stiles knew why. He felt his face flush with shame. 

"Oh, dude, I wasn't, like, implying that--" 

"I know. It's ok. I just prefer 'massage therapist' because people are less likely to make those assumptions." 

Ok, so he had clear, professional boundaries. That was good. That was great, actually. Stiles was happy for him, as a detective, that he defined his work within the realm of the legal. It also meant that Scott was way right that Derek would not appreciate him hitting on him at any time during the massage. Or before or after, for that matter. Which, whatever, Stiles wasn't going to do anyway, but it was good to know that's where Derek was at in case Stiles's stupid mouth tried to test the waters. 

"Dang. Do you get that a lot?" Stiles asked, still ashamed. He hadn't even technically done or said anything, but if thoughts could incriminate him, he'd have a life sentence at this point. Derek had been a pretty much regular feature for him in the shower for the last week. And maybe at night too. And most waking hours where he wasn't consumed with work. 

"Not as much of a problem for me as it is for Laura." Derek traveled back up his body to tuck the sheet down around his waist and start his long, smooth strokes along Stiles's back. 

"Who's Laura?" Stiles sighed, his eyes fluttering closed. 

"My sister. She works with me. She's how I got started in this." 

"Oh yeah? So you, like, get into the business with her and then outperform her? Brutal, man."

"Just this year. She was voted best the year before, but she took some time off this year to have a kid." Derek actually chuckled. Like, a real laugh. Even if it was a tiny, half-snort kind of laugh. 

"You're an uncle. That's cool, I love kids, their tiny hands and feet. And baby-sized shoes? Like, kill me." Stiles's eyes were officially glued shut and he could no longer feel his hands. Derek had paralyzed him with his perfectness. 

Derek snort-laughed again. Stiles savored the sound.

"So, why do you guys do at-home massages then? Isn't that a lot of work for you? And kind of dangerous?" 

"I'm not worried," and he didn't sound like he was. He sounded pretty confident, actually. "And Laura can handle herself. A lot of our clients are elderly and feel most comfortable in their homes."

"That's... really sweet of you. Guys. Of you guys. As a company." Stiles winced. So much for the bad personality. Grumpy? Check. Sweet? Also check. He was fucked. "What a great, inclusive policy. We're working on that down at the station, how we can be more friendly to the older types. My dad's the sheriff and he's getting up there so I think it's been occurring to him more and more because he keeps bringing it up at meetings," 

Derek didn't say anything to that, and Stiles sort of fell into the ache-soothe of the massage after a few more minutes. His mind was slowly drifting off to the too-relaxed place where he might start moaning again, so he pulled himself back into consciousness and ticked through his list of predetermined questions in his head.

"So it's just you and Laura? No other family in town? Or near family?" Like girlfriends or possibly boyfriends.

"We have a few... friends... here," Derek answered with some hesitation.

"Is Laura married?" Stiles probed. _Are you?_   he hoped for. He hadn't felt a ring on Derek's hands, but then again with his job he probably wouldn't wear one even if he was married. 

Derek's hands trailed to Stiles's hips, and dang, that was a new place. Stiles shivered as Derek pressed into just the sides of his hips, close to but not touching his ass. 

"I generally don't ask on the first massage to give you time to get comfortable, but do you want me to do any work on the area under the sheet?" 

Stiles was glad his face was in a hole. 

"You... I mean... sure. Knock yourself out." Stiles totally had a normal tone of voice. He could be cool. Casual. As long as Derek couldn't see his face, that is.

"Well, it's an option."

What the hell was Stiles supposed to say to that? _No, please don't touch my butt, beautiful human? Because then I might actually combust?_

Stiles thought about it. He really did.

"That sounds kind of nice," he said carefully. It was a bad call, for sure, but Stiles wasn't known for making good calls in his personal life anyway. 

Derek lifted one side of the sheet, tucking it over Stiles's other butt cheek. Stiles hoped he wasn't blushing along his back, too, like he did sometimes. He held his breath as Derek started to massage one side of his ass, gently at first before adding more pressure.

Stiles let out his breath slowly, trying not to moan. Wow. He'd obviously fallen asleep and was in dream heaven. 

"You're tight here," Derek commented, offhand.

Stiles was gone. He was out. And, jesus, Derek probably _wasn't_ interested in men at all to say something like that without any kind of connotation. Stiles didn't know whether he was more disappointed by that realization or elated that Derek's hands were actually touching his ass at that very moment. 

"Really?" How Stiles was cogently keeping up conversation was actually beyond him. His mouth must have switched into autopilot because all his brain had room for was  _you're tight_. 

"Do you sit a lot at your job?"

"More than I'd like."

"Try to stand up once every thirty minutes at least. It'll keep the tension from concentrating." 

"Standing up." Stiles wet his dry lips. Derek's hands were pretty safe as far as ass touching went, staying clear of any accidental slippage into darker places, but Stiles was still more turned on than he probably should be. "Got it."

The silence was hot and sweaty this time, and Stiles did his darndest to keep his body relaxed so Derek wouldn't think he was "tensing up" or whatever and tell him to breathe. He was grateful that his ass was getting touched to the sound of water dripping instead of Enya's crooning, at least, because that might have pushed him over the edge.

Derek moved to the other side without any warning or fanfare, his warm hands spreading circles along Stiles's butt.

"If you can take off your underwear next time, that will help." 

Stiles pinched himself a little just to make sure he hadn't actually fallen asleep. 

"Sure. I can do that. Yeah."

So next time he'd be really and truly naked. Cool. He was fine with that, obviously. No problem. Whatsoever.  

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Sheriff Stilinski plays matchmaker and Stiles hates every second.

 Stiles walked into his house to find the lights dim, Enya warbling, and candles out in full force. He did a double take, bewildered, until his mind came to the obvious conclusion. 

"Dad," Stiles scowled. His father was in the cleared out area of the living room, looking very relaxed on Derek's table. Like father like son. (Except hopefully not too much).

"You raved about him at work," the Sheriff explained unnecessarily. Derek was currently rubbing whatever kind of massage oil heaven had sent down from its clouds for the day all over his large and perfect hands, looking surprised. 

"Did you not gift him one of your massages?" Derek asked, his eyebrows creasing his forehead. 

"This is why you left the station early?" Stiles fumed. His father laughed uneasily, muffled by the face hole. 

"Should I..." Derek looked hesitantly between the two of them. "I should have called you to confirm that was the case."

Stiles sighed and hung up his keys before retreating to the staircase. "It's fine. Go ahead." 

Stiles then suffered through an hour of Enya echoing through the house while he made himself and his conniving father a heart healthy dinner. He pouted for exactly half of that before he decided his father's body probably (definitely) needed the massage more than his did. Still, one less session with Derek was something to mourn. Plus, he was going to get a butt massage this time. Without pants. _What the fuck, dad_. 

Stiles wandered out when the Enya cut off to the two of them talking. 

"You done?" Stiles said by way of explanation of his presence, poking his head around the corner. His father was fully clothed and still laughing at something Derek had said. Derek was standing with his arms crossed, a slight smile on his lips. 

"Why don't you stay for dinner? Make up for my deception," The sheriff offered to Derek. Derek glanced at Stiles, looking startled. 

"I made a mean vegetarian lasagna," Stiles added his support before he could even think about it, his heart speeding up. Derek looked at him again, his mouth opening and then shutting. 

"Really. I feel bad for tricking you now." His dad smiled again and Stiles could tell Derek was caving. 

"Sure." 

_Nice job, dad._

Then his dad _winked_ at Stiles. _Winked._ And it was in no way as covert as Stiles might expect from a highly trained police officer. Stiles felt his cheeks heat up as Derek's eyes followed the wink to Stiles's face. 

_Not a nice job, dad. Bad job. Very bad. Mayday._

Stiles turned without any sort of explanation for his father's apparent knowledge of his terrible, no good crush on the massage therapist and no way of looking Derek in the eye ever again. 

 

* * *

 

Dinner started off surprisingly well, all things considered. His dad didn't wink again. Stiles didn't look Derek in the eyes. Somehow they had good conversation about family and work and living in Beacon Hills.

"I studied where Laura studied in New York for two years before I came back to Beacon Hills," Derek explained, making his way through a second helping of lasagna (which Stiles chose to take as a compliment). 

"Dude, how'd I miss you in high school? We weren't that far apart."

"Stiles, you graduated college with those math skills? Derek was out of high school at least two years before you made an appearance." The sheriff picked moodily at a stray vegetable poking out of the lasagna, probably wishing it was ground beef or something. 

 "What? Derek, how old are you?" Stiles demanded immediately, still not looking him in the eye. But, damn, turns out avoiding his eyes just gave him the chance to appreciate his great mouth -- very shapely and full.

Anyway.  

"30," Derek smiled slightly, glancing between the two of them. 

"Oh, shit, dad, you're right." Stiles counted up the difference. Stiles was newly 24, which gave them a six year difference at least. "Well, in my defense, you look like an immortal 25. I mean. Shit." _Shit_. His mouth. Derek chuckled again and Stiles swooned at the sound, his ears burning. 

"Son, I hardly think your crush is a secret anymore. If it ever was," The sheriff said easily, rolling his eyes. 

Stiles's jaw dropped and Derek actually hid his mouth behind his hand to stifle his laughter.

"Well, _now_ it isn't," Stiles growled. He was probably going to burn up on the spot from the temperature of his blush.

"So, how about this?" The sheriff put his hand on the table. "I'm going to the bathroom. You two figure this out like adults. Then we can have a regular conversation." 

"We were having a regular conversation before you ruined it!" Stiles called over his shoulder as his father abandoned him. Then it was just the two of them at the table, and Stiles had no idea how he was going to fix the train wreck his father had just created. Derek cleared his throat, still looking way too amused at the situation, which admittedly took some of the edge off. At least he didn't look as unbearably awkward as Stiles felt. 

"We're really not allowed to date clients. It's a pretty strict rule," Derek said immediately, his voice quiet. Stiles's heart sank. 

"Oh." 

"Not that I'm not flattered. Because I am," Derek added after some hesitation. Stiles still thought he could stand to look less amused about, well, all of this. 

"Oh?" 

"It's a matter of professionalism, though." Derek shrugged. He took another bite, chewing in the silence. "You do make a mean lasagna." 

Stiles supposed it was his way of steering the conversation away from the awkward, but Stiles was awkward; he couldn't deny his true nature.

"I'm sorry. My dad shouldn't have said anything."

Derek smiled tightly, sighing, and almost seemed rueful as he set his fork down. 

"Do you want to transfer to a different massage therapist? I'm the only one who does house calls right now, but you could come in to the salon for the rest of your massages." 

Stiles's heart sank at that and he fiercely sent his father bad vibes for his meddling. His thoughts must have shown on his face because Derek leaned forward and touched his hand briefly to get his attention. A spark went through Stiles where Derek brushed against him because his body apparently couldn't take the hint. 

"I really don't mind, whatever you want. I just want you to be comfortable. It's not a problem for me if you want to continue together." Derek held his eyes, cool and confident and obviously unbothered by Stiles's meltdown. Stiles flushed for what was probably the millionth time since he walked in his house. 

"See? That's why you're so. Like. How can anyone not have a crush on you when you talk like that, dude? I'm completely normal. I'm sure you get this all the time from your clients." Stiles crossed his arms defensively, fighting off his blush. Derek snort-laughed again and Stiles glared at him. 

"I think I can safely say I don't have any clients quite like you, Stiles."

"Oh, god," Stiles groaned, sinking his face into his hands. "That can't be good." 

"It's not bad," Derek reassured him, touching his arm again. Damn it.

"Did we work things out?" His father asked brightly as he reappeared at the kitchen entryway. Stiles glared at him while Derek chuckled to himself, looking between the two of them. 

"You just wanted to steal the rest of my sessions, didn't you?" Stiles accused him, eyes narrowing. The sheriff feigned innocence as he sat back at the table and pushed his lasagna around on his plate. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have about ten million (actual number: 20) comments backlogged right now, so I apologize for not answering sooner! Going through them now.


	5. Chapter 5

"I saw Derek today. I didn't hit on him," Stiles reported to Scott via skype later that night. 

"Good," Scott looked distracted, searching for something in his messy little apartment. He perked up at Stiles's next words, though. 

"My dad did."

"WHAT?" Scott moved from the background of the skype screen to pressing his face too close to the camera. 

"Ok, that came out wrong. He hit on him _for me_. Can you believe it? How rude." 

"Rude," Scott agreed, sounding and looking somewhat less than sympathetic. "That'll make things weird." 

"I know, right? I'm pissed. I really might give you the rest of my massages now. I can't very well give them to my dad after such a betrayal, especially considering he stole one today already."

Scott frowned, silent while he thought. Then he chirped, "You should go apologize to him in person. That way he'll know you mean it."

Scott looked like he thought it was the best idea ever, no questions asked. Stiles could think of a few other plans he preferred, namely going into hiding and avoiding public spaces that Derek could be in for a few years. Not that he wasn't familiar with rejection -- he was -- but usually he got rejected on his own terms, after a grand gesture with giant teddy bears and proclamations of love. He usually had plenty of time to square himself for the inevitable "thanks but no thanks" in advance. This had caught him completely off guard and that somehow made it ten times worse.

"Really, Stiles. He sounds like a serious guy and I bet he would appreciate your sincerity. If there's one thing you can do well it's earnest."

"I think you're thinking of yourself, Scott."

"Just trust me. You can be very persuasive in person."

Stiles frowned at his longtime friend before nodding slowly.

"Yeah, ok. But just remember -- your 'get to know him' plan failed too, so I fully expect this to go up in flames."

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles found himself at Full Moon Massage, which had somehow managed to pop up between his favorite ice cream store and the local art gallery while he was off at college, after work the next day, trying to convince himself to face the music. He won the battle with himself after a few minutes and walked in to the calming tinkling of wind chimes and Erica's bright smile. The place smelled like Stiles could comfortably take a nap in the waiting room.

"Stilinski!" Erica chimed, throwing herself half over the front desk to pull him into an uncomfortable hug. The front desk dug into his hipbones painfully. "I missed your face. And all those cute moles."

"Nice to see you too, Erica."

"Why are you here? We're supposed to come to you."

"Um." Why was he here? It was a good question. Mostly because he trusted Scott more than he trusted himself in these situations. Scott somehow managed to win over the most unattainable girls while Stiles consistently struck out on his own. Thus, he'd taken to listening to Scott's advice in matters of the heart.

"Is Derek around? I just wanted to talk to him for a second." Stiles ran a nervous hand through his hair. 

"Yeah, he's in the room marked 'staff' if you want to head back. He's not with anyone right now, so you should be good if you just want to poke your head in." 

"Oh really? Is it ok for me to go back there?" 

"Should be fine." Erica waved breezily. 

It was not fine. 

When Stiles "poked his head in" quite literally, it was definitely on a scene he wasn't meant to witness. Derek and another woman were talking together near the staff kitchenette, and the woman was holding up a baby with what Stiles could only describe as wolfish features. _Literal_  monster face. It had chubby little baby hands (with claws? Yikes) and feet (also clawed), and otherwise looked like a baby human. Honestly, it looked like a tiny little... _werewolf_ struggling in the woman's arms. Derek and the woman, who Stiles guessed was Laura based on Derek's description, froze, the baby squirming between them and making adorable little snuffling huff sounds that reminded Stiles eerily of Derek's snort-laugh. 

"Um. Hi?" Stiles announced into the tense silence of the room. "Adorable little..." Stiles gestured, not sure what to call the baby. Despite the claws, it still managed to be adorable. 

"What do we do?" Laura turned to Derek swiftly. Stiles was thrown by the question, but it was exactly what he was asking himself. 

"Stiles. What," was all Derek managed to get out before he fell back into a stunned silence. Laura was looking increasingly distressed next to him so Stiles thought he should say something else. 

"Should I go?" 

  
"No," Derek said quickly. "Come in. I guess..." he looked at Laura, and something passed between the two of them briefly before Derek nodded and Laura sighed. "We need to talk." 

"You're not going to... eat me? Or possibly kill me? I mean. I'm guessing. I'm just taking a wild stab here that..."

"Yeah, we're both werewolves. And so is Laura's baby, obviously," Derek rushed out. Laura's eyebrows spasmed with worry, but she stayed silent. 

Stiles took a deep breath and stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. 

"Well, I came over here to apologize to you again for yesterday, but now I guess I have two things to apologize for; I really should have knocked." Stiles drummed his hands against the door as he waited for Derek or Laura to respond. 

"You don't... There's no reason for you to apologize," Derek said, his voice rumbling. "Though knocking is a good habit to get into." 

"Learning that the hard way," Stiles admitted.

"I'll let you handle this, brother." Laura leaned over and pecked Derek on the cheek. "I'll work on Henry in the massage room. With the door _locked_." She looked pointedly at Stiles. Stiles shrugged helplessly. 

"We were trying to get him to shift to human so Laura could take him home," Derek explained when Laura left the room. 

"How does that work?" Stiles asked, his curiosity piqued. 

"You're not freaking out," Derek frowned. "Why aren't you freaking out?" 

"Oh, I am. I'm just always freaking out about something, so I'm getting pretty good at hiding it. It's the ADD." 

Derek's features softened. Stiles laughed, running a hand through his hair.  This was all so weird and somehow... not at all surprising.  

"So, werewolf, huh? That's pretty cool, actually. I love fantasy stuff with werwolves, though, I have to admit I'm blanking on names of favorite characters who are werewolves and not werewolf hunters right at this moment. Because, of course."

"You're thinking of Van Helsing aren't you?"

"Little bit." Stiles chewed his lip. 

Derek's eyebrows lifted and Stiles got the sense he was relaxing somewhat in the presence of Stiles's nervous babbling.

"I love Wolverine," Stiles blurted out. "You're totally Wolverine, dude."

Derek's eyebrows lifted even higher before he broke out in a laugh. Stiles smiled at the beautiful sound. 

"Not a werewolf, Stiles." 

"Told you I was blanking. But still, it fits. You gotta admit." 

"Alright," Derek said, obviously humoring him. He took a few steps closer to Stiles, folding his arms in front of him. "So this doesn't freak you out?" And his eyes flashed blue, his fangs lengthening over his lips. He also sprouted some magical sideburns that were pretty neat. 

"Dude, what happened to your eyebrows? Those are far too voluminous to just... do that." Stiles said, his voice quavering a little with amazement at the sight of the transformation. 

"I'll take that as a no." 

"Oh, no I'm still freaking out. Remember? Master at freaking out."

"Ok." Derek surveyed him. "You're heartbeat's completely normal, though. And you don't smell concerned. You sure you're freaking out?" 

"Dude, you can hear my heartbeat?" Stiles asked, suddenly a lot more concerned. "And _smell my emotions_? What else can you do? Oh no. This is suddenly making our sessions together a lot more embarrassing in retrospect." 

Derek's werewolf face shifted seamlessly back to his human face. He tilted his head to the side, listening and smelling and whatever hell else his privacy-invading superhuman powers let him do. 

" _Now_ you're freaking out." 

 

* * *

 

 

In the end, they got coffee a few blocks down, because Derek said Stiles needed to sit down, and also because Stiles had about a bazillion questions to ask and half of them had to do with just how much Derek could smell/hear/see what he was feeling at any given moment. 

"You're intimidating. Don't get me wrong. It's the giant muscles and the permanent glare," Stiles babbled, a little calmer with a warm chamomile tea in his hands. "I guess I already like you too much to let something as silly as werewolfiness get in the way of that. Plus, you're way too, like, conscientious to be an _evil_ werewolf." Stiles pointed out. No way could Derek give massages like that and rip people's throats out at night. No way. His cop senses were tingling about that and he knew when to trust them. "Hell, everyone tried to convince me bisexuals weren't real too. Not so mythical after all, as you can see." Stiles gestured to all his 147 pounds of bisexual. 

"Stiles, listen." Derek took his hand again and Stiles was putty, staring into his beautiful, beautiful green-blue-grey-something eyes and wondering if  he would ever meet anyone so freaking gorgeous again. "My sister and I have kept our identity quiet for years, ever since we moved back here. There are people who would hurt us if they find out, as I'm sure you can imagine, so I need you to realize the kind of danger you could put us in if you were to tell anyone. I have to think about my nephew." 

Stiles sobered immediately and stopped gazing lovingly at the shape of Derek's ears. God, he had it bad. Freaking bad. But important matters were at hand and Stiles could think with his brain and not his... other places. 

"I swear, your secret is safe with me. I won't even tell Scott. Oh, he's my best friend -- you haven't met him, but he's actually the guy who convinced me to come talk to you today. Dude, I'm actually great at keeping secrets. You wouldn't think it because I talk so much, but I tend to talk about things that don't matter a whole lot more than I do things that do. I'm kinda famous for it, actually." 

"We're putting a lot of trust in you, Stiles," Derek sighed. "More than I'd like to when we don't know each other all that well. I wish this could have been on better terms. I'm going to have to have a word with Erica about letting anyone back to the staff room." 

"Does anyone else know?"

Derek leaned back in his chair, arms folded, and regarded Stiles for a few moments before seeming to come to a decision. 

"We have a pack here." 

"No shit!"

"Erica's part of it. Her boyfriend Boyd, too. And Isaac Lahey."

"Isaac? For real?  Oh my god _that's_ why he got amazing at lacrosse halfway through junior year. Fuck me." Stiles ran two hands through his hair as the pieces clicked into place. Werewolves had just been running around his life all this time and he had no fucking idea. "This is bonkers." 

"Again, Stiles, all of them could get hurt if you tell anyone. I really need you to understand that. People get scared easily and do stupid things." 

"No, I get that. Police officer, remember?" Stiles shot him his best reassuring smile. He wished Derek would do his hand touching thing again. "My lips are sealed. Completely." 

Derek sniffed lightly, his eyes sort of drifting to the side. "You're still attracted to me." He said it like an apology. Stiles stiffened as he realized Derek was literally smelling Stiles's attraction when he sniffed like that.

"You're awesome, dude. I can't be blamed. I feel no guilt for that."

"This was the real reason I didn't want to get involved with you," Derek explained, looking pained. He leaned over the table, and this time Stiles could smell him too -- his earthy smell, like fresh mountain air. "But now you know, so. What the hell."

Stiles couldn't quite believe Derek chose that moment to kiss him. Correction: Stiles couldn't quite believe Derek wanted to kiss him _period_. But here he was. Kissing Wolverine. Damn.

Derek's lips were soft and wet and far, far too briefly against his. Stiles found himself leaning closer as Derek pulled back, chasing the sensation. Stiles didn't even have a chance to close his eyes, so he had a front row seat to the indecision that flickered through Derek's face as he pulled back. 

"You'll really have to switch massage therapists. It's not professional."

"Holy fuck," Stiles wheezed. "I love Scott."

Derek's face spasmed with confusion before Stiles hurried to explain. 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have zero control when it comes to unnecessarily embarrassing Stiles in front of his father, just fyi. I think it's just something I have to do to Sterek at least once in a story.

Stiles didn't even remember tripping through the front door and making dinner for his father. His entire brain was preoccupied with playing Derek Hale kissing him over a loop in technicolor dream-vision. 

The Sheriff, of course, noticed. Stiles may or may not have been whistling love songs to himself. 

"I knew you two could work it out like adults," his father said as he peeked over his shoulder for a look at what Stiles was making for dinner.

"You're shunned. You know this. I can't hear the people I'm shunning," Stiles scowled at the food on the oven without looking back over at his father. 

"Come on -- I helped. I deserve some credit." 

"You train wrecked."

"Obviously it didn't end up like that." His father sounded so smug that Stiles definitely had to shoot a glare at him from his shoulder this time. "So what's the deal? Tell me."

"We're... I think we're dating," Stiles conceded, flushing. "We didn't talk about it in depth."

"I'm not going to dig into _that_ anymore than to say congratulations. I can't remember the last time you dated someone," The sheriff noted, sniffing at the aroma of the food. "Please tell me there's something meaty in that?"

 

* * *

 

Despite Derek's resistance, Stiles insisted that Derek fulfill the rest of his free massages. This time he schedule them at 12 PM on the days he had off work that his father didn't and he remember to lock the front door after Derek arrived with his massage table slung over his back. 

"I'm supposed to get naked this time, right?" Stiles asked, tugging at the bottom of his shirt and watching Derek's eyes focus on the exposed part of his stomach.  

"You're still wearing clothes, I see," Derek commented, opening his table and setting up. Stiles felt a thrill at the idea that Derek might actually be attracted to him too, which, wow what a concept since he kissed him a few days ago, but still it seemed so... surreal. Stiles was totally going to milk it for all it was worth. 

"No underwear." Derek's eyebrows shot up and Stiles smirked. "Ready for you to work on the 'area under the towel'."

Derek snort-laughed while Stiles finished yanking off his t-shirt. He dropped his pants too before Derek could suggest something ridiculous like waiting out of sight. He nearly salivated over Derek's obvious appraisal of his naked body. 

"Are we actually going to get to a massage today?" Derek said with a slight smile, crossing his arms over his chest.  

"Of course," Stiles retorted as he clambered up onto the table and pulled the sheet up to his waist theatrically. "Be professional, Derek. Geez." 

He received a light swat to his (covered) butt, Derek's hand lingering before it traveled up to his back to soothe and rub in that warming-up sort of way he usually started with.

"I nearly choked on your arousal during these sessions," Derek said as his hands trailed from hip to shoulders. Stiles shivered at the husky sound of Derek's voice, obviously on-board with Stiles's implicit plan. 

"You're like 120 degrees of hotness, Derek. I can't be the only client who's done that," Stiles tried to defend himself. It was difficult to feel embarrassed with Derek's hands all over his body, though. 

"No one like you, Stiles. You were killing me," Derek whispered, gently caressing his sides and teasing out his shoulder muscles into aching relaxation. "But..."

Stiles lifted his head in vain, wanting to see Derek's face after that note of hesitation. "But what?"

"You should know that I haven't been in a relationship in... a very long time. Years." It came out like a sigh, something wistful and yearning and maybe a little resigned. 

Stiles lifted his arm, feeling for Derek and grabbing onto his sport shorts when he found them. He meant for it to be reassuring. He wasn't sure if he accomplished that. 

"Me too. I suck at getting people to date me. 'Unrealistic standards' may have been cited once or twice." 

"I have no idea why." The weird thing was, Derek didn't sound sarcastic; he sounded sincere. Stiles's heart seized. "I had a difficult time resisting you."

"Holy shit," Stiles moaned as Derek's hands slid lower on his back and trailed underneath the sheet. Slowly the sheet got pushed back. Stiles's dick pressed against the table, hard since Derek first touched him and aching now.

"Should we start with the area under the sheet, or finish with it?" Derek's breath washed over Stiles's skin before he felt teeth nip gently at the fleshy part of his hip, the curve of his ass.

"God. Start," Stiles gasped, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to memorize the feel of Derek's lips against his skin.  

"Good thing I have massage oil on hand," Derek mused to another moan from Stiles. Stiles bit his lower lip to stifle more sounds as Derek touched places that hadn't been touched in far too long. His touch was practiced and patient, at odds with other lovers in Stiles's short romantic history. 

 

* * *

 

It took them literally hours. 

Turns out Derek loved to slowly work Stiles up, and somehow knew parts of Stiles's body that Stiles didn't even know about. Like feet? Yeah, that was a thing. That was definitely a thing. At first Stiles felt beyond weird about it, but Derek reassured him that everyone's feet were extra sensitive. Stiles thought maybe his were extra extra sensitive, though. 

Derek also liked Stiles's hands. 

A lot. 

He took each finger into his mouth and essentially sucked him off until Stiles was a panting mess before he moved onto the next one. Then he kissed along his palms, tracing veins with his tongue and gently massaging with his fingers. Derek had brought oil from home -- edible grape seed -- instead of his usual massage oil, so Stiles got oil literally everywhere and Derek tasted like grapeseeds when they kissed. They kissed a lot; it was long and luxurious, tasting each other, no rush to move on to anything else. Derek carved out a chunk of time to apparently memorize the shape of Stiles's kiss. Stiles had never experienced anything like it -- most of the sex he'd had up until that point had been fast and furious, focused on one goal: orgasm.   

Derek didn't tell him to breathe once, which Stiles appreciated (even though with all the panting and moaning he probably could have used the advice). 

Arm pits were also a new thing, which Stiles again first thought would be gross. When Derek kissed his way down the underside of Stiles's arm, his eyes flashing blue and feral as he looked up at him, Stiles swore to never again judge a thing before trying it. And, surprise surprise, he was insanely sensitive in his armpits as Derek snuffed and licked at him in a very wolf-like way. 

They somehow ended up back in Stiles's bedroom, curled tight against each other, naked and exhausted and, at least for Stiles, incredibly relaxed. 

"Dude, this was amazing. Beyond amazing. I'm pretty sure all the bones in my body have evaporated level of amazing. I may never walk again. It could be a problem." Stiles commented offhand, staring at the lines of Derek's hand laced through his.  

Derek rumbled, which Stiles took for a laugh. 

"But?" Derek mumbled, his mouth tucked against the back of Stiles's neck.

"I gotta say, I'm a little worried you don't do quickies," Stiles laughed to himself. "What if we have ten minutes before bed or something? Yes or no to sex under those conditions. Go." 

Derek snuffed against his neck again, squeezing Stiles somehow closer. "It depends on what kind of sex. I might say yes to a blow job, but you need time to fuck right. You've got to respect the process of getting there." 

"Clearly," Stiles conceded, shifting around until he could get a good look at Derek. Derek and his fantastic body and his stubble-y chin and dark, luxurious hair that Stiles loved to trail his hands through. "You sure I'm not dreaming? This feels... maybe you should pinch me." 

Derek rolled his eyes, which, god, _so cute._  Stiles ran a hand through his hair because he could. 

"You really want me to pinch you?" Derek asked, sounding put-upon. 

"Maybe a light spanking instead."

Derek's eyebrows lifted to the sound of Stiles cracking up. 

"Dude, your face." 

"Be careful what you joke about, Stiles," Derek said with a hint of a smile. 

"Hey, after today, I'm not knocking anything I haven't tried." Stiles shrugged. 

Derek's eyes sparkled. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

They fell asleep, of course, and Stiles woke to Derek pressing a hand over Stiles mouth and making a "shhh" motion with his other hand pressed to his own lips. 

"Your father is here," Derek mouthed to him. 

"Why are we whispering?" Stiles asked quietly. 

"Don't you remember how we left downstairs?" Derek's brow furrowed and Stiles replayed in his head -- ok, yes, there was stuff thrown about and sheets on the floor and massage tables maybe possibly up-ended. 

"Oh. Oh shit. That's embarrassing. Shit," Stiles moaned, sinking down into the sheets and covering his face. Almost on cue, a knock came at his door. 

"Stiles, when you and Derek are finished, I brought home dinner. Come on down." A pause, a long, lingering pause before, "And for godssakes, clean up the living room. That's shared space, son." 

"Sorry dad," Stiles cringed to Derek's pained expression and mouthing of "sorry". 

  


	7. Chapter 7

Stiles scored an invite to Laura's dinner the next Friday. It absolutely did not make him sweaty and nervous 24/7 in the days prior. 

He showed up at Derek's apartment in his detective clothes, suit and tie, and Derek blinked at him. 

"You look... good. Really good," Derek said after a slow moment. Stiles broke out in a new wave of sweat. 

"It's too much?"

"You'll definitely be the best dressed," Derek said evenly. Stiles blanched and curled over Derek's kitchen table. 

"I didn't bring a change of clothes," Stiles moaned into his arm. He felt Derek rub a hand over his back. 

"I have clothes."

"Yeah, right, like I'm going to fit into your gargantuan muscle tees."

"Hey." 

"That was a compliment."

Stiles blinked up at him in agony. Derek sighed and stroked a hand gently along Stiles's jaw. 

"It'll be fine."

"Liar."

"I survived dinner with your dad. You can do this."

Stiles moaned and collapsed again. 

 

* * *

  

Turns out little Henry the werewolf is 1000% cuter up close and in Stiles's lap. He snuffles at Stiles with his little wolf face on and giggles at Stiles's silly faces. It's an easy way to get Laura to like him, admittedly. Also having a baby in his lap calms him considerably. Babies tend to instinctively like Stiles, so he knows he won't have to try too hard with Henry. 

The Hale dinners are packed. Literally, filled with pack. There's got to be ten or more people running around arranging silverware and setting down plates filled with food before hurrying back into the kitchen. Stiles recognizes Erica and Isaac and even thinks he recognizes another kid from high school, Boyd, but there's a whole host of other people Stiles doesn't know. As soon as he made it through the door, though, Laura caught sight of him, hugged him, and dumped Henry in his arms with the order to "make sure he doesn't climb on the table," before speeding off. 

Derek got literally pulled into the crazy by Laura, throwing an apologetic gaze over his shoulder as Stiles grinned at the baby and settled into one of the living room chairs to watch the kitchen craze from somewhat of a distance. 

"I'm supposed to keep you away from the table. Laura obviously needed a cop for this level of supervision," Stiles told Henry. Henry burbled in response and shifted back to human. He smiled big. Stiles smiled back.

"Stiles! He's in a hair pulling phase. Keep your hair out of his hands," Laura called to him, worry in her eyes as she set down a giant bowl of what looked like mashed potatoes.

Stiles had time to look around the house and take in how huge and cozy it all felt. All the furniture was warm earth tones and cool greens, the walls painted the color of the forest. Stile wondered if that was part of the wolfiness or if Laura just liked those colors. Possibly both.  

After another five minutes of noisy bustling, Stiles started to notice people sitting down at the huge dinner table. Derek appeared, his hair slightly mussed, and shot him one of the first outright smile Stiles had ever seen from him. Stiles was almost knocked back by the force of it. 

"Hey Henry," Derek cooed, picking the baby up from Stiles's arms. "You like uncle Stiles?"

 _Uncle Stiles_. God. 

The baby brrr'd, a spit bubble expanding from his little lips. Derek's face transformed into a "cute but also gross" look before he flashed Stiles a more subdued smile. 

"Dinner's ready. You ready?"

"As I can be," Stiles replied, his heart rate spiking. 

"It'll be fine." Derek wrapped one arm around his waist and steered him to their seats, thankfully right next to each other, at the table. "We let the humans serve first, because once the wolves get to the food all hell breaks loose." 

"Seriously?" Stiles blinked, looking around the sparsely populated table at what he supposed were the other humans in the pack. A ginger-haired woman waved at him while piling green beens on her plate. Another kid with blond hair who looked about six was sitting at the table, watching Erica scoop food on a plate for her. 

"Stilinski, you made it to pack dinner! Derek's never brought someone before, you know," Erica chimed, grinning brightly at him even as the little girl tugged at Erica's shirt and pointed insistently at the marshmallows and yams. "I know, Love, I know," Erica hushed her gently.

Henry was indeed struggling in Derek's arms to climb onto the table, looking like he was on the verge of a tantrum. Derek patiently wound him back in and locked him into a solid werewolf hug, twisting him up against his chest to point his face away from the object of his interest. The baby huffed indignantly and melted into a cry-ready expression. Stiles leaned back in his chair and made his best monkey face at the baby. The baby blinked in surprise and giggled. 

"There you go." Laura appeared between them, sighing. "Thanks Stiles. Peter, we'll never live down when you let him crawl across the food."

"Everyone was done eating," an eerie looking man said from the corner of the room, watching the humans fill their plates with what Stiles categorized immediately as creepy interest.  

"You look sharp Stiles," Laura noted briefly before hauling Henry up into her arms and moving to the other side of the table to place him in high chair with a meal already set on it. Stiles groaned quietly and Derek rubbed his hand under the table.

Pretty much the moment the humans finished serving themselves, the rest of the pack descended on the food. It was a frenzy. So many hands and ladles and giant forks moved at once. Stiles couldn't keep track of all the calls for platter passing.

Finally, Laura called everyone to order with a flare of red eyes and a voice a little extra supernatural infused. The wolves stilled in unison, all eyes on Laura. 

"I'd like to start with gratitude not just for the food on the table, but for the presence of my brother's new partner here tonight. Stiles, welcome to the pack! Derek told me not to embarrass you too much, so I'll just say that I'm so happy my brother's happy because of you. We'll do what we can to make you feel at home with us." 

There was a general grunt of assent, interested looks, and brushes of touch. Smiles flashed at Stiles from around the table, and Stiles smiled and waved awkwardly, unsure what else to do. 

"Let's eat," Laura announced with a grin, her eyes flashing red again. 

The pack dove into their food, loud cheery conversation starting up almost immediately even as silverware clinked against porcelain. Laura looked at Stiles (who was still too nervous to eat at the moment) and leaned in to speak directly to him. 

"I hear you're a cop! I'm excited to have a cop as pack. We've had some run-ins with cops before that were very difficult to explain." 

"Laura, you can't abuse Stiles's job," Derek reprimanded his sister to Stiles's spiking nerves. 

"No, of course not!" Laura scoffed with a wink at Stiles. "It'll just be nice to have someone on the inside who actually gets what's going on."

"You're worried about Henry running off transformed and showing up nude somewhere, aren't you?" Stiles joked weakly. "Now that I think about it, there are a truly strange number of streaking incidents in Beacon Hills."

Laura laughed. "Well, most of us can't transform fully into wolves. I'm definitely hoping I won't have to deal with that with Henry. Well, not until he's older."

"And you thought it was a boring little town," Derek grunted as he delicately -- far more delicately than the other wolves at the table -- cut up his steak. 

Stiles thought about all the times he'd fantasized about the L.A. or New York police force and being a detective in a fast-paced city. Derek was right, Stiles hadn't even begun to factor in how his newfound awareness of the werewolves would affect his job, and the vast new levels of complicated and fascinating it could potentially add. Beacon Hills definitely wasn't quite as slow and easy as he'd thought when he moved back.

As he looked around the table, he was hit with a sudden deep-seated satisfaction and sense of belonging that had been settling since he returned. He was home. He was pack now. Derek smiled at him knowingly as he picked up his fork and started to eat with the rest of his new family.  

 


End file.
